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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206239">Parallax Memories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodspit/pseuds/Bloodspit'>Bloodspit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Childhood Friends, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Flashbacks, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Keith's Father (Voltron) Dies, M/M, Memory Loss, Physical Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:41:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodspit/pseuds/Bloodspit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith attempts to navigate the foster system while coping with a traumatic past and the fact that his memories are deteriorating. Why can't he remember his father's favorite food, or his best friend's laugh?</p><p>He struggles to make foster placements work again and again, but keeps finding himself back at the group home. Finally another chance is given to him. He can't afford to mess this up.  But when Keith realizes how unstable his new caretaker is, he is forced to play along with her plans. Will his secret message be discovered in time?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith &amp; Keith's Father (Voltron), Keith &amp; Shiro (Voltron), Keith &amp; Voltron Paladins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Back to Reality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome and I hope you enjoy the story!  Mind the tags and be safe.</p><p>I have a lot of this story already written out, I'm just trying to arrange it in a way that makes sense chronologically.  I know the first chapter is really heavy but some future chapters will be more lighthearted (and others not so much).  You can expect irregular but frequent short updates until the story is finished!  Feel free to comment with any notes, theories, predictions, or constructive criticism.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Memory is a funny thing.  </p><p>Most people forget much of their daily life, in fact - they simply don't have the need to remember such mundane activities, and so they are not stored in long-term memory.  Even fond memories, especially those from early childhood, tend to eventually fade away.  As people age, their ability to recall certain memories may decay, until they can remember only a shade of what was once a vibrant and joyful experience.  People forget all kinds of things they once cared about - names, faces, birthdays, anniversaries. </p><p>But it's hard to forget something horrible.  No.... you're more likely to remember every detail with such vivid clarity as though it had happened the day before.  Keith is no exception.</p><p>----</p><p>He was eight years old, going on nine.  Following the fire, he had been taken from his home - probably reduced to no more than ashes by now - to the police station.  He remembered the sensation of a blanket being wrapped around him, a gentle murmur in his ear and pat on his back, but he didn't have energy to respond to more stimuli.  He'd already exhausted his day's limit.  Blazing hot flames, the phantom glow of them burned against the inside of his eyelids; harsh soot on his face parted by tight, dry tear tracks; bruises, scrapes, and burns that had been treated and bandaged; screams drowned out by the roar of the fire (His own? His father's?  He wasn't sure...maybe both).  The sensations overwhelmed him as he sat in a motionless stupor while people whom he didn't know filled out paperwork and quietly discussed what to do with him.</p><p>His first week at the group home didn't register with Keith.  He was still shell shocked, and didn't react to anything around him except to wander aimlessly from bed to cafeteria, from there to the bathroom, and back to the bed, disregarding the concerned glances and questions from caretakers.  Even when children nudged his shoulder in passing, snickering beneath their hands, he didn't react.  They soon grew bored and moved on to less catatonic victims.  At some point, he was given new clothes to wear.  The fabric was itchy and a few sizes too big, but he would just mindlessly scratch and fidget with the clothes, not paying them much mind.  The discomfort of his clothes, the bustle of the children around him, and the weary faces of the caretakers - it was all just static in the background, and Keith was floating above it all.  He didn't want to feel anything anymore.</p><p>He barely even existed for that first week.</p><p>One night in his second week there, he was awoken by a child crying softly in the bed below his bunk.  He didn't know who they were because they had just arrived that morning, not that it would make a difference.  Keith didn't talk to anyone.  

</p><p>Crying wasn't out of place, especially for newcomers to the home, so Keith just rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.  But the whimpering was persistent, and it stood out in the otherwise silent room.  There was no static to drown it out.  Keith just lied there and let the child's crying wash over him as he closed his eyes again.  Then he heard the child murmur forlornly, "Papa..."  Keith jerked to full attention, shoving the blankets off of him as his pulse roared in his ears.  He felt himself breathing but he wasn't getting enough air, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't <i>breathe</i>, he had to get out, he couldn't -- </p><p>Suddenly Keith was back in that burning house.  There was no warning - he had been awoken by flames licking up the wall, engulfing his closet and blocking the window.  They creeped steadily toward his bedroom door, and he knew he had to get out before he was blocked in.  "DAD!" Keith cried out, choking on the smoke as it stung his eyes.  He got up and started stumbling towards the door, but the heat was so intense that he was afraid to approach it.  "Dad!" he shouted hoarsely as tears streamed from his sore eyes and he began to feel lightheaded.  </p><p>Keith heard the footsteps before he saw anything - his father barrelled through the door, grunting at the passing heat.  He pressed a damp bandana to Keith's mouth and moved Keith's hand to hold it in place, nodding encouragingly when Keith held it there, then hoisted him over his shoulder and ran.</p><p>Keith's dad took off through his bedroom door - Keith felt the heat singe the hair on his arms and he gasped at the stinging pain, but kept the wet cloth pressed to his face.  The fire was eating away at most of the house by now, including the entire back half and the backdoor that was their closest escape.  His dad muttered a quick curse and changed direction to the front door at the far end of the house.  Keith could see fire creeping along the roof and the walls, but the path to the door was mostly clear.  They were almost there when an awful, cracking noise caused them both to look up.  The load bearing beam that spanned the whole house front to back was burning and splintering, spewing forth embers.  For a moment Keith thought that if it wasn't so terrifying, it would be beautiful.  </p><p>But he had no time to actually react, no time to think further on that, before he was bodily tossed out the front door down the porch steps.  The wood splintered and scraped against him as bruises blossomed along his body.  He tumbled to the dirt path.  The same moment he landed, and what little air he had in his lung was expelled by his impact, he heard the crash.  It was so loud that he flinched and covered his ears with his hands on instinct.  He had never heard anything so loud.  He achingly pushed himself up on his elbows and looked up to the burning building - the entrance now fully on fire beneath the collapsed beam, and his father nowhere in sight.  Someone was screaming, it might have been him.  Sirens blaring behind him announced the approach of emergency vehicles, adding to the cacophany.  Keith covered his ears again, closed his eyes, and sobbed.</p><p>---</p><p>"...ok...you're ok.... shhhh you're safe...."  He didn't know how long the caretaker had been whispering gentle reassurances and rubbing his back as slowly regained his awareness.  He realized he wasn't at that burning house, he wasn't covered in ash and blood and dirt.  He was in his bed at the group home, wheezing slightly through a sore throat, brows furrowed and eyes wide.  None of the other children were asleep - the lights were on and they were all looking in his direction.  Some looked angry, tired and annoyed, but most had sympathetic or sad expressions on their faces.  Some of them were crying.  They turned their eyes away when he looked toward them.  A few of them lied back down and retreated beneath their covers.</p><p>He put a hand to his cheek, felt the wetness from his own tears, and looked up into the eyes of the one who was comforting him.  Keith didn't know her name, or didn't remember what it was.  He wasn't sure if she'd told him.  But she met his gaze steadily, her eyes a little watery, and a small worried smile on her face.  "Are you back with us?" she asked calmly.  Keith nodded, looking back down to his hands.  The scrapes and burns were still there, but scabbed over and bandaged.  He nodded again, though she hadn't asked him anything.  </p><p>She handed him a glass of water, which he sipped from at her prompting, and she turned away to retrieve his discarded blanket from the floor.  In a matter of minutes, the lights were back off, a few infrequent sniffles, coughs, and rustling sheets to be heard as kids settled back into sleep, but otherwise all was quiet.  Keith was awake for some time, but eventually he must have drifted off because before he knew it, he was waking up at the morning call for breakfast, his eyes puffy and crusted over from last night's tears.  He found that he couldn't float anymore.  It would be too easy to get stuck in that flashback again.  He had to face the reality in front of him. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Start Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Keith catches the eye of a bully; then he catches the eye of a prospectice foster family.</p><p>Some graphic description of blood/injuries in this chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>One month later.</i><br/>
Keith didn't have much experience with kids his own age.  He'd really only ever gotten along with one kid, who was a few  years older than him, and the rest of the time he always spent with his dad.  Other children he'd met didn't enjoy playing with him.  He didn't understand their jokes and didn't know any of the nursery rhymes, so they usually just went on to play without him and left him behind.  Keith would retreat to his room and sulk until his father would come distract him and cheer him up.</p><p>But there was nowhere to retreat to in the group home.  Which was all well and fine for the few kids  who, rather than ostracize him, preferred to terrorize him.  They didn't want their favorite victim to be able to run away.  They teased him relentlessly and he tried not to react, but sometimes he couldn't help himself.</p><p>He was just finishing up in the toilet when a trio of just such instigators entered the bathroom, and upon spotting him, made a beeline to where he was washing his hands.</p><p>"Hey, creepy kid," the one in the middle jeered.  What was his name?  Brian or Brandon or something.  Keith didn't care really.   "Creepy kid, creepy kid!" one of the others chanted and poked at him.  He swatted their hands away and frowned as they guffawed.</p><p>"Hey creepy kid, is it true you killed your dad?" the ringleader taunted.  Keith's breath caught in his throat, his hands shook.  He could feel his breath coming in short gasps, and knew he had to do something to keep from panicking.  Fight or flight kicked in out of self preservation, and he chose fight.  </p><p>This kid was much bigger than Keith, in height and in bulk.  But that didn't make a difference to Keith as he tackled him by the waist with a defiant shout - he still came down hard on the grimy tiles.  Their screams echoed in the dank bathroom and down the hallway.  Keith had the element of surprise on his side at the start of the tussle, but the larger child shortly got his bearings back, boxing him upside the head a few times and delivering a vicious elbow to his chin.  As a result, he bit his tongue hard and blood began gushing from his mouth and onto the child's shirt as Keith cupped his injured mouth tenderly, blood trickling between his fingers.</p><p>"UGH! Gross!" his attacker shouted, shoving Keith off of him.  Keith landed in a pile on the bathroom floor, hands shaking and ears buzzing.  "Creepy kid got blood all over me, agghh ew!"  The kids, thoroughly disgusted, retreated from the bathroom hastily, the sidekicks shrieking with laughter at their friend's misfortune.</p><p>Keith was crying, scared, and bleeding on the bathroom floor.  He had never bled this much before, was he dying?  The blood was thick in his mouth, and he gagged, which just aggravated his injured tongue more.  He was fully sobbing now, hoping some adult would come find him and take care of him.  If his dad were here....</p><p>Keith stopped that thought in its tracks.  It was too painful to think about.  So, despite his trembling limbs, and the terror he felt at his injury, he got onto his scraped knees and then stood up, one hand trying desperately to contain the mess that was leaking from his mouth.  When he finally arrived at the head office, he was greeted by shocked faces and shouts of alarm.  </p><p>He ended up getting stitches in his tongue, but the pain from the accusation felt worse.</p><p> </p><p>------<br/>
No one had ever bothered to explain the group home to him.  Keith just realized one day he'd been left here for good.  He was never made aware that the intention was to find him a new home, a new family.  "This IS my new home," he  assumed, and tried his best to cope with that reality.  So it came as a surprise when he'd heard that the group home would be hosting an event for them to meet and potentially get placed with a foster family.  He'd heard the words before, but he didn't know what it meant.  It would explain why some of the kids who had been here when he arrived were gone.</p><p>"Okay children," the caretaker's authoritative  voice reduced the chatter of the room to a quiet hush.  Since his episode that second week, Keith had made a point to learn that her name was Kathy.  He liked Kathy:  she was an older lady, and was always calm, rational, and fair.  "You know the drill!  We are going to have some visitors this afternoon.  Please be on your best behavior while they're around, and don't get discouraged if no one approaches you.  Just do your best and I'll be here if you need anything."   </p><p>A chorus of, "Yes, Miss Kathy"s rang out from the 20 or so kids in the room.  Keith didn't join in - he was still recovering from getting stitches, and was told not to speak.<br/>
-----<br/>
He wasn't sure what to expect from these visitors.  He thought they might be more police officers or state workers, but they looked like normal people to Keith.  </p><p>One of the couples who were walking around interacting with kids approached Keith.  The middle aged woman in her baby blue cardigan and khaki skirt crouched down to Keith's level, a saccharine sweet smile on her face.  The man behind her glanced at his watch, and looked around, seemingly disinterested.  "Hello there, precious.  I'm Linda, what's your name?"</p><p>Keith looked around for the notepad and pen the staff had given to him so he could communicate while his tongue healed, but it wasn't on his nightsand where he'd left it.  He was sure Brian-Brandon-whoever had knicked it, so he had to make do without it.  Keith turned back to Linda, whose smile was slipping just slightly.  He shook his head and shrugged, pointing at his mouth.  </p><p>"You can't speak?" she said, sticking her lip out in a pout that she might have considered sympathetic, but was really just condascending.  Keith resisted rolling his eyes, and nodded.  </p><p>"Oh dear, well that's okay.  That's nothing to be ashamed of," she smiled sweetly again.  Keith wasn't ashamed, it was just inconvenient.  But, whatever.</p><p>"Well, I'll just get your information from Miss K."  She stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt and sighed.  "I must say, little man.  I really like you!"  </p><p><i>Like me? Lady, you don't even know my name!</i>  Keith wanted to reply, but all he did was shrug his shoulders again and nod.  He was asked to be on his best behavior, and he wanted to be good for Kathy.  Linda addressed the man behind her, "What do you think, Jeff?  Is he the right fit for our little family?"</p><p>Jeff looked up at Keith with a stern face, passing it over him from head to toe,  before looking over at Linda and nodding.  His cell phone rang and he answered it as he walked away.  Linda clipped her hands giddily and laughed.  "That's great!  Okay, little man.  Let's go talk to Miss K."</p><p>----<br/>
The Banks family home was really nice.  Like - REALLY nice.  It was like being in an expensive department store.  Keith was nervous about touching anything, so he just kept his hands to himself.  Linda showed him to his room, where he placed down his government issued black trash bag full of his meager belongings.  Linda's gaze lingered on the bag before she ushered him out and introduced him to their other child Hurley who was in the room next door.  He was a stout, curly haired boy with a perpetually sour expression.  He resembled Jeff a lot, and did NOT like Keith.</p><p>"Hurley, you know this doesn't mean we love you any less dear, you know that right?" Linda implored him, hugging him around his shoulders as he wiggled to get free.  "We have so much to offer here that we should share it with others.  Just think of Keith as your new playmate!  Here, I'll let you two spend some time alone." Linda ushered Keith into the room, nearly closing the door behind him before poking her head in to add, "Oh yeah, and Keith can't talk, so don't pester him about being quiet!"</p><p>Actually, Keith's stitches had already dissolved, so he could talk just fine.  But if it gave him an excuse not to talk to anyone, he wasn't going to contradict it.  Besides, his tongue was still a little sore, so it was a good idea to give it a rest.</p><p>Keith looked over at Hurley, who was pointedly ignoring him and playing some video game he didn't recognize.  Hurley made no effort to invite Keith over, but also hadn't told him to get out, so Keith took this opportunity to look around.  The large room was full of all kinds of toys and gadgets and books.  He walked over to a bookcase and picked up one of the comics there, flipping it over to read the back cover.  Hurley noticed the motion out of the corner of his eye, threw down his controller and stomped over to where Keith looked up from his reading.  </p><p>"That's MINE - DON'T TOUCH!"  he screeched.  Keith flinched, dropping the book when Hurley smacked his hand.  He heard footsteps rushing up the stairs and Linda calling, "Hurley!? Keith? What's going on in there?"</p><p>The door swung open and Linda appeared, panting and wide eyes.  "What's wrong!?" she asked hurriedly.</p><p>"Mooommm!" Hurley broke out into choking, gasping sobs.  "Keith is trying to steal my stuff!  This is the worst, you're RUINING MY LIFE!"  He ran over to his bed and threw himself down, shouting and crying into his pillow.  </p><p>Keith's heart was racing in his chest.  He didn't mean anything by picking up the comic!  He looked up helplessly to Linda, who had noticed the comic on the ground.  She glanced over at Hurley on the bed, and back to the comic, then sighed, bending over to pick it up and return it to its shelf.  She then approached Keith, who forced himself to remain calm despite his pounding pulse.  </p><p>"I guess you can get to know each other some other time.  Come on Keith, let's get you settled in."<br/>
----<br/>
A week passed wherein Hurley accused Keith of hitting him, stealing a toy, breaking a vase that Hurley had obviously knocked over, and of trying to kill him.  Linda recognized his tendencies to exaggerate and, dare she say it, lie.  She didn't hold Keith accountable for the things  Hurley accused him of, nor did she hold Hurley accountable.  </p><p>But there was once, when Jeff got really mad because someone had broken the tv, and then tried to hide it.</p><p>"Linda!  Hurley! Keith!  Come in here at once!"  He shouted, the most words that Keith had ever heard him say to them at one time.  Jeff was an independent man.  He didn't spend much time at home.  </p><p>"What-" he gesticulated at the television that appeared okay but, when turned on, had streaks of black that didn't illuminate properly "-is the meaning of this!?"</p><p>Nobody said anything - Keith, because he didn't even know the tv had been broken; Linda, because she knew who had done it but didn't want to say; and Hurley, because he was scared of Jeff.</p><p>"I work hard to bring money to this family, and all I want to do at the end of the day is come home and watch my tv, but I can't even have THAT!"  Jeff panted, slightly out of breath, before continuing.  "I'm going to count to ten, and if someone doesn't confess, I'm going to assume you all did it!"  Jeff shouted, stamping his foot on the carpet for emphasis.  Linda and Hurley flinched, but Keith was getting frustrated. <i> I didn't do it, so why should I be punished!? </i> </p><p>As Jeff counted down, Hurley finally recovered enough to remember his fallback excuse.  "Keith did it!" he cried, pointing at Keith.  Keith looked back at him incredulously, then to Linda with his eyebrows raised.  </p><p>Jeff rounded on him in an instant.  "Keith?" he spat, "Is this true?"  Keith blinked, but didn't back away or flinch.  He looked again to Linda but when she wouldn't meet his eyes, he'd finally had enough.  "Well?!" He stepped forward, clutching the remote so tightly that his knuckles glowed bone white. </p><p>Keith signed and turned back to Jeff.  "No, sir," he answered softly, a slight lisp from the wound but clear enough to be understood.</p><p>All three of the Banks family looked at him with shock.  Jeff's face morphed into one of distrust.  "What's this? You can talk!?"</p><p>"Well - yes?"  Keith answered, looking down in confusion.  Did the group home not explain his circumstances to them?</p><p>"Is that SO!?" Jeff bellowed.  "Well, I think we have our answer now!  Keith, go to your room and no supper!  Liars don't get to eat in this house."</p><p>"Wait, I didn't do it - see, if you'd just let me explain -- this other kid hurt me when we were fighting-" Keith tried to backtrack, cutting himself off midsentence as he aborted each explanation and started over, but didn't realize he was digging himself a deeper hole.</p><p>"Fighting!?" Linda screeched in  mock offense, now fully committed to taking her husband's side on whatever he said was the truth.  "I thought I knew you, Keith.  But maybe Hurley was right - maybe you're not right for our family!"</p><p>Keith let out all the breath he had as though someone had punched him in the gut.  He took a step back and put a hand to his chest.  He couldn't breathe- <i>Oh no, </i> he thought. <i>It's going to happen again, I can't stop it!</i></p><p>He gasped for air, sinking to his knees and screwing his eyes shut.  He could hear shouting around him but his ears were ringing so loudly he couldn't understand them.  He tried to cover his ears to get the ringing to stop, but that didn't help, and the shouting just got louder.  Someone grabbed his wrist and yanked, but he couldn't get up - didn't they understand!?   He couldn't breathe -<br/>
<i>  Fire crackled above him.... </i><br/>
he couldn't -<br/>
<i> The smoke was filling his lungs... </i><br/>
he -</p><p>He passed out.</p><p>---</p><p>When he woke up, he was in the hospital.  He waited for someone to notice, to come take him back the Banks house.  But it wasn't Linda who walked through the door, or Jeff.  It was Miss Kathy.  She sighed as she looked to her phone, then noticed Keith was awake and offered him a weak smile.</p><p>Keith just broke down and cried.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Butterfly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Keith tries to distract himself with fond memories from his past.  They're starting to get fuzzy at the edges, but he thinks he's remembering correctly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i> Three years later </i><br/>
Pillars of warm summer sunlight filtering through the trees above; the gentle trickling of a nearby creek; grass up to his knees dancing in the wind like seaweed in ocean waves, brushing against his fingertips...</p>
<p>These were the memories that Keith replayed each night when he had tried and failed to sleep in the perpetually cold room, surrounded by restless kids who were probably doing the same.  He would often think back on his father - tall with kind eyes;  the deep timbre of his voice echoing in the workshop as he bent over an old engine and pointed out various parts to Keith; his large, warm palm resting against Keith's back.  He always felt safe with his father, and always felt loved, even if the man was subtle about his affection.</p>
<p>The fire took all of that away from him.  He shook his head, shutting the door on that line of thought.</p>
<p>Other times, he would remember his childhood friend.  He couldn't recall his name, though he'd tried again and again...</p>
<p> It had been four years since their last meeting, and there was no one around to remind him of these things, to tell stories of their silly antics and all the "trouble" they would get into.  But he still rememembered certain features of his face, a vague idea of what he looked like, and their adventures together were some of the most vibrant memories he cherished.</p>
<p>His childhood friend (and make no mistake, there was only one person he called his friend other than his father) was a bit older than Keith, and much more calm  than other kids he'd met before.  And yet, despite his soothing and welcoming demeanor, his friend had an exhuberanace for life and nature that couldn't be contained.  His enthusiasm was contagious.</p>
<p>Keith recalls the time they woke up before the sunrise to watch a meteor shower on their backs in the wet, dewy grass upon the hill behind his father's cabin.  His friend turned to him, chin brushing Keith's shoulder, and smiled so enthusiastically that his eyes crinkled and his dimples revealed themselves like two perfect little stars on his cheeks, illuminated by the glistening meteors.  Keith wasn't able to reign in the shy smile that blossomed across his own face, and he was fine with that.  His face was warm despite the morning chill.</p>
<p>They were inseparable every summer for years, and it was always exciting to reunite and see how the other had grown. They would exchange stories of their parted adventures with each other, then start to plan their new summer adventures together.  Each fall, his friend would return to the city for school.  Keith was homeschooled, but it was great because he enjoyed learning from his father.  He was a good teacher.</p>
<p>But one summer, his friend didn't show up.  </p>
<p>He remembers asking his father about it, who just looked down at Keith and shook his head solemnly and sighed.  He didnt know at the time that his father had already driven over to his friend's grandparents' house nearby to inquire about him, only to find the furniture covered in sheets and no cars in the driveway.</p>
<p>They never did find out what happened;  Keith in his child-like naiivete hadn't thought to exchange phone numbers.  He just assumed his friend would always come every summer without fail, as the sun rises and sets each day.  It was just one of the indisputable facts of life.  At the time, Keith believed he couldn't hurt any more than he did.  But that was the same summer the fire happened, and so he was proven wrong.  He lost his best friend, his father, his home, everything he held dear in life - all in one miserable summer.  </p>
<p>Now, the miserable summers blended in with the rest of the dreadful year like some cruel mockery of a patchwork quilt.  Each day, each week, each month brought its own dose of suffering, but they were all strung together by the same ache in his chest like misshapen castaway pearls on a dirty string.  Still, he used to feel like had no choice but to face each day with the hope of something better, though it became increasingly difficult to withstand the daily disappointment.  If he stopped hoping, he feared he would lose himself.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>---</p>
</div><p>But something better didn't come.<br/>
The group home had sharpened his soft edges into jagged points that he used to keep other people away.  He tried to make himself scarce when the foster families would come by.  The months rolled by, children's faces around him morphing and changing, new faces joining, familiar faces leaving, and the few whose presence remained constant....like Keith.  </p>
<p>Unfortunately for every kid there, Brannen (not Brian nor Brandon) still stalked the halls, and his bullying had adapted to minimize adult detection.  Thanks to him and a few of his lackeys who'd come and gone, Keith had gotten pretty good at scrapping.  He could defend himself well and had even used them to try out new moves occasionally.  He would never harm anyone who didn't provoke him, but he was aware that his fuse had gotten shorter.  </p>
<p>Perhaps it was a consequence of shoving all of his painful memories into the corner of his mind.  He could still feel the terror of the memories creeping up on him now and then, and in his first few years he'd had his fair share of panic attacks.  However he was getting pretty good at redirecting his thoughts - the fighting seemed to be enough to distract him and tire him out.</p>
<p>But skirting those memories while lying in bed at night trying to fall asleep surprisingly took a lot of energy.   Fighting off the trauma kept Keith awake, and so he was often tired and cranky.  That just fueled the fighting even more as he was more prone to snapping at people over minor grievances.  He pretended not to notice Kathy's worried gaze, hardening himself against any guise of kindness.</p>
<p>The daily fighting had another unintended side effect.  Sometimes a foster parent would come in on a self righteous mission looking for a diamond in the rough.  You know the type - so high on their bullshit conviction that they actually believed they would be able to help one of these troubled kids.  The permanent scowl and bruises were a beacon for these kinds of people where it usually served as a helpful deterrent against others.  They had a distinct look to them, usually a haughty demeanor and overly tidy clothes.  

</p>
<p>He noticed one of their kind among the visitors, and schooled his face into a more neutral expression, keeping his eyes passively turned down.  The shined black pumps paced among the kids, clicking harshly against the linoleum floors.  He let his eyes unfocus as the heeled visitor slowly approached, paused, then passed over him.  His hands were shaking.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>---</p>
</div>Brannen was shouting at some poor kid who'd left his shoes in the walkway, inadvertently tripping him on his way to bed.  Kathy hurried over and calmed the situation. Brannen scoffed before kicking the shoes and stomping off to bed.  Despite all his rough exterior, Keith suspected that Brannen felt dejected whenever he wasn't selected by foster families.<p><i>Ha... </i> Keith mused.  <i> I'd love to see them take a chance on Brannen.  I bet that would work out real well.  </i> He smiled bitterly, though he didn't feel happy from the thought.  He pulled his blanket up as the caretaker's goodnight elicited a round of tired murmurs and grunts.</p>
<p>Keith heard whispering nearby.  He held his breath and strained to hear.  </p>
<p>"....please .....new family not hurt me....let them ....nice.  Amen."</p>
<p>Keith let out the breath he'd been holding through his nose, scowled and tossed onto his side.<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>---</p>
</div>His arms were crossed over the warm bark of the oak.  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his arms to begin counting down from 30.  The tall grass behind him rustled in the wind.  "... 3 .... 2 ....1 .... Here I come," he called out, turning away from the tree and shielding his eyes from the bright summer sun.  He looked around the wide field, his eyesight tinted amber from the angle of the sun.  The old barn shed by the dirt road looked like a good hiding place, so he headed  over.<p>As he approached the shed, he heard a car coming up the road behind him.  He turned around, the dust from the tires obscuring some of the blue sky around the rusted red truck.  He watched as the truck slowed to a stop right in front of the shed.  A tall, thin man with thick rimmed glasses and a denim button down shirt got out of the cab.</p>
<p>"There you are!  I've been looking all over for you!  Your dad is in the hospital, we need to go!" he called out, beckoning Keith urgently.</p>
<p>Keith loooked around, his heart pinching in his chest.  "My dad?" he croaked, gawking back at the man.</p>
<p>"Yes, I'll bring you there!  Come on in the cab, son.  We haven't got much time!"  He waved his hand again and Keith shuffled over to the truck, unsure.</p>
<p>"Keith! Wait!"  he turned around at the call.   His friend emerged from his hiding spot in the shed and dusted himself off as he hurried over to Keith.  He grabbed Keith's wrist that was reaching for the door  handle.  "Do you know him?" He asked carefeully, staring down intently into Keith's face with a serious expression.</p>
<p>"No-it's my dad, he's-" He swallowed, tears started running down his stricken face.  He looked up at his friend, who was watching the man in the glasses with an angry expression.  "We have to go--!" he rasped, pulling at  his arm still held back.</p>
<p>"Who asked you to come get Ke- to come get him?"  his friend demanded in a stern voice Keith had never heard him use before.  The hand that held his wrist squeezed just slightly.</p>
<p>"Don't be foolish!  The boy's mother sent me.  You can come too if you like, but we have to go!"  the man was getting agitated now, and smacked the roof of the car for emphasis.  Keith flinched, but then realized what he'd said.</p>
<p>"M-my mother?" Keith echoed, confused.  He sniffled and wiped his face with his sleeve.  "I don't understand..." he looked back and forth from the stranger to his friend.</p>
<p>His friend tugged him away from the truck and placed himself between Keith and the stranger.  He was taller than Keith, older and bigger.  His back was warm and dusty.  Keith could feel the heart beating rapidly from where his face was pressed up against his friend's back.  His friend curled his arm back and guided Keith further away, not turning away from the stranger befeore them and his idling truck.  He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cell phone.  Then he dialed some numbers and held the phone up to his cheek.</p>
<p>"Hello, is this the police?  There is a strange man trying to abduct us.  His license plate is - "</p>
<p>The man's face contorted with  fury before he rushed back into his truck and revved his engine.  The truck turned around and sped off the way it came, kicking up billows of dust into the air.</p>
<p>The boy let his arm fall limply by his side, dropping the phone into the dirt.  Keith noticed the cracked screen, realizing it had likely been broken all along.  His friend let out a shaky breath, then turned around and grasped Keith tightly by the shoulders.</p>
<p>He looked angry, and Keith shrank back slightly.  Then his face relaxed slightly, and he sighed, looking up, and released Keith's shoulders.  Instead of reprimanding him, he folded Keith into a hug.  Keith gulped, then cautiously returned the hug, pressing his cheek up to the fabric of his shirt and hearing that heartbeat still thumping quickly.</p>
<p>"Don't worry, your dad is just fine," he breathed into Keith's hair.  Keith felt a chill run down his spine, and nodded.  "Keith, did your dad ever talk to you about strangers?"  Keith felt the question reverberate from through his friend's chest.  He shook his head, his wet face rubbing up against the shirt slightly.</p>
<p>His friend pulled away, and wiped Keith's face with his sleeves.  Keith looked up into his worried eyes.  "There are good people in this world.  Like your dad!  But there are bad people too, people who will take advantage of you if you give them the opportunity."  They wandered back over to the oak tree.  "My family has a secret a password for times like this.  If they're going to send someone to get me, then that person has to tell me the password." He explained as they sat down under the shade of the leaves, leaning up against the bark. </p>
<p>"Of course if it's a policeman or fireman, then that's fine.  But other than that, even if it's someone we know, they told me not to go with them unless they tell me the password.  That's how I know it's safe"  He smiled at Keith, and his eyes sparkled in the afternoon light.  Keith nodded, then rested his head back against the trunk thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"That makes sense...I'll ask my dad to come up with a password.  What's yours?"  Keith asked.</p>
<p>"Ours is butterfly, because my obaa-chan loves butterflies!"  His friend was sounding happier now, standing and stretching.  "Oh - we have another word too.  If I ever don't feel safe, I can call them and use another password to let them know to come get me."  He offered his hand to Keith, who took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.  They started heading back up the road to Keith's house.</p>
<p>"What's that one?" Keith asked as his friend bent down to retrieve the phone from the ground.</p>
<p>His friend turned back to him, silhouetted by the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon.  "It's -- "<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Keith's eyes shot open at the sudden call for breakfast.  Kids around him groaned and shifted about as they slowly got out of bed.</p>
<p>Keith stretched, wincing as he yawned and felt his chapped lips crack slightly.  He was still in a dream fog, trying to remember what it had been about.  Was it just a dream, or did it really happen and he was just remembering?  It was hard to discern.  It had the same feel as his other memories, but when he tried to conjure up any of the images from the dream-or-not-dream, it was all blurry.  He couldn't remember the faces he'd seen.  The conversation was slipping away from him.  By the time he got to breakfast, he'd already forgotten most of the dream.  But he remembered the sensation of a warm, dusty shirt with a fast-beating heart, and the word "butterfly."</p>
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